


Never Doubt That I Love You

by Salazar101



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, M/M, Medication, Mental Illness, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 21:46:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salazar101/pseuds/Salazar101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We do crazy things for the ones we love</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Doubt That I Love You

Desmond liked his eggs cooked sunny-side up, but the whites couldn't still be runny at all.  He liked them with salt and pepper and a little special seasoning sprinkled on top.  He liked to have a sandwich and a glass of milk for lunch.  His favorite movies were comedies and while he watched them he liked to snuggle on the couch.  When he slept he slept close, breath tickling over the back of his neck.  
  
Clay had never been good with words, and his genuine smiles were few and far between.  Actions though... he would _do_ anything for Desmond.  Clay cooked eggs just the way he liked every morning.  When he could he'd bring him lunch at work.  He kept the house clean and the fridge stocked while Desmond was working.  Clay redboxed movies he thought Desmond would like and rubbed a hand up and down his back while they watched.  
  
When they made love Desmond whispered against his ear, "I love you, I love you Clay..."  
  
Clay could never reply, he just clung tighter to Desmond as he was fucked into the mattress.  Words were so hard, but at least Desmond seemed to understand when he'd pull Clay into a kiss so Clay didn't have to say anything at all.  
  
After it was over Desmond would rest his head on Clay's chest and drift off, a grin on his face.  The medication he took messed with his sleep habits, but Clay was content to brush his fingers through Desmond's hair and watch him sleep as he drifted in and out for minutes at a time.  Clay usually couldn't fall asleep until Desmond was about to wake up for work, and he was such a light sleeper that as soon as Desmond shifted he was awake.   
  
While Desmond showered he cooked breakfast.  
  
Took his pills.  
  
They put a fog over everything, made his emotions duller.  That was okay though, Clay liked that.  They were better than the hallucinations.  The depression.  The constant thoughts of suicide.  Besides, they didn't dull what he felt for Desmond, and that was the most important thing.  
  
"Have a good day at work," muttered Clay as Desmond gave him a goodbye kiss, tasting of spices and eggs from breakfast.  
  
"I will, love you," Desmond gave him one last kiss and then he was out the door.  
  
Clay took a nap.  Cleaned the kitchen.  He hadn't had a job in awhile, and a previous felony conviction made it hard to get one.  That was okay though because Desmond was fudging some paperwork so he could get under his insurance.  It made the expensive medication and therapy affordable...and he made enough to support them both.  
  
Even though he didn't hold down a paying job Clay was still busy during the day.  He locked up the house and went out to his NA meeting, talked to his sponsor about how good everything had been going.  How he never had any real cravings anymore.  Told the group he'd been clean for 4 years.  Told the young ones how much better life gets when meth doesn't rule your life anymore.  
  
Next he went grocery shopping.  Clay was normally a very frugal shopper, unlike Desmond whose idea of shopping was tossing bags of chips into the cart and calling it good.  Clay smiled fondly at the thought and put in at least one bag of potato chips, just because Desmond liked them so much.  Today he saw a red velvet cake in the bakery section, and though he was not prone to flights of fancy he bought it anyway because it was Desmond's favorite kind of cake and he'd been working extra hours lately.  
  
While he was at the store he decided to stop by the pharmacy and get his prescription re-filled.  Clay had only a few days left of his medication and the last thing he wanted was a day or two of waiting around for his prescription.  God he couldn't handle that.  Missing even one day was hard enough... missing two...  
  
"Clay Kaczmarek," he said to the woman at the window, "I should be in your system," Clay fished out his prescription note from the doctor, well folded inside his worn leather wallet, "I'm about to run out and since it takes you guys a few days to get it in... better safe than sorry," he gave her what he hoped was a smile.  
The nervous smile she gave him back seemed to indicate he still wasn't very good at smiling.  She clicked at her keyboard and Clay leaned on his elbows and watched the people around them.  This was routine.  He liked routine.  
  
"Um..." Clay stiffened slightly as her typing paused and her eyes flickered over to him, "I'm sorry sir, I can't update your prescription."  
  
"What?!" Clay jerked and stood up straight, feeling his chest tighten and his heart speed up in his chest, "Why not?!" he was yelling, he couldn't help it.  
  
"Sir," the woman sounded even more nervous, "I'm sorry it doesn't really say, it looks like an insurance problem, please calm down."  
  
"No no no no no, you have to fix it!" Clay leaned over the counter as if he was going to type on her computer and fix it himself.  He felt like he was going to hyperventilate, his world was narrowing to a pinpoint and his ears were filled with the sound of his own heartbeat.  
  
The two women behind the counter were yelling something and then he was grabbed by the back of his shirt and pulled forcefully away.  The counter window was shut and he was left leaning against his full cart and trying not to pass out.  Someone was trying to talk to him.  Oh god everything was swimming.  No... no... he wasn't going to panic.  Clay closed his eyes and started to concentrate on his breathing.  
  
He'd learned many meditation techniques in therapy.  This was going to be okay.  He just had to make an appointment with his doctor to get this sorted out.  He'd talk to Desmond, have him sort out the insurance.  Clay still had a few days left, it was good he'd decided to do this early.  
  
It was going to be fine.  
  
"Hey man are you okay?  Do we need to call 911?"  
  
Clay came back to Earth at last, his heartbeat slowed down and his ears cleared.  A small crowd was hovering nervously around him, though not within his arm reach, "I... I'm fine," said Clay, "Sorry..."  
  
Clay looked over to see the two women at the pharmacy giving him worried looks and he tried to give them an apologetic smile, "Sorry," he grabbed his cart and left, head hanging.  The minute he got home he was calling his doctor.  
  
Actually the minute he got home he put away the groceries, because he couldn't stand to think of them just laying around while he made an appointment.  Clay picked up the phone and sat down at the table, speed-dialing his doctor.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"I need an appointment."  
  
Clay thought the ticking of their clock was awfully loud right now.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"The pharmacy won't renew my prescription, and I only have a few days left of my current pills, you have to write me a new one or something."  
  
Fix it fix it fix it.  
  
Tick tick tick tick.  
  
Clay scratched the back of his neck as there was silence on the other line.  
  
"I see..." Tap tap tap tap.  The doctor was on his keyboard.  No doubt fixing everything.  
  
Clay relaxed and dropped his hand back to the table, red furrows stinging on the back of his neck.  
  
"I'm sorry Clay, it's a problem with your insurance, you have to get that straightened out first, when you do call me again and I'll be happy to renew your prescription."  
  
"NO!" Clay heard the phone click but he yelled into it again anyway, "NO YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!"  
  
Deep breaths.  Calm.  Talk to Desmond.  He had a few days.  
  
It was going to be okay.  
  
This was going to be okay.  
  
Clay blinked tears of fear and frustration from his eyes, hand shaking and knuckles white as he hung the phone up in its cradle.  For awhile he just sat at the kitchen table working on his meditation, but he was so rattled it never stuck very well.  It did keep him from complete panic though.  
  
He checked his pills.  Clay swallowed as he counted, he had three days left to sort this out before he'd be without pills.  Completely.  How long had it been since he'd been off meds?  Before Desmond, he'd been medicated when he met Desmond, when they fell in love.  He'd even been on and off meds while doing meth.  The meth worked like the medication did.  Kept him sane... and though it gave him hallucinations he could always tell when they were from the drug and when they were from HIM.  
  
It was less scary from the drug.  
  
Maybe... maybe he could score some meth, just until it all worked out.  Clay tapped his prescription bottle on the counter and listened to the pills clatter around inside.  It wouldn't be so bad, he could quit the minute the insurance was worked out.  
  
No.  _No_.  
  
Clay put his pills away and trudged into the bedroom to sit on Desmond's side of the bed, laying out and taking a deep breath in his pillow.  He was four years clean, he'd get through this without the meth... besides he KNEW it would consume him again and he couldn't let Desmond see him like that.  Clay fell asleep with his head on Desmond's pillow, trying to think about what he was going to do...  
  
He woke up slowly to the feeling of lips brushing over his cheek and lips murmuring against the shell of his ear, "Clay?"  
  
"Mmmm..." Clay rolled over with a sleepy sound and one real smile slipped onto his lips as he saw Desmond leaning over him, "Des..." his voice cracked with sleep and he saw Desmond smile fondly.  Smiles came so easily to Desmond.  
  
"I cooked us dinner," he said, resting his forehead against Clay's.  
  
Oh shit he'd forgotten about dinner, "Desmond you didn't have to do that, shit I'm sorry I just-"  
  
"Shhhh, I wanted to do it," Desmond shut Clay up with a slow soft kiss and Clay felt himself melting against the mattress as Desmond's lips moved against his own.  
  
They parted with a muted sound and Clay took a deep breath.  He pushed himself up onto his elbows and met Desmond's eyes, "Des, I... uh..." Desmond couldn't see how much this was bothering him, he didn't want to upset him, "There's something up with the insurance, could you look into it so I can, um, get my prescription filled as soon as possible?"  
  
"Of course, I'll get it all worked out," Desmond kissed him once more and Clay felt his worry melt away.  Desmond wouldn't, he couldn't, let him down.  
  
They had a good dinner and then Clay pulled out the cake, smiling at Desmond's crow of delight.  Desmond ate two slices and chattered about his day and Clay was happy to rest his head in his hands and listen.  
  
The next morning he took his meds and thought, ' _Two days, two days left_.'  
  
Desmond left him with a kiss and "I love you".  
  
Clay cleaned, napped.  Worried.  
  
Desmond called him later, "I talked to the insurance, this might take a little while to fix but I promise it'll get worked out soon, I have to fax them some stuff could you get it together and bring it to me at work?"  
  
Clay gathered up papers and drove them to the bar Desmond worked at.  He wished he could stay for a drink but alcohol did not mix with his medication so he gave Desmond a kiss and went straight home.  
  
The next morning he almost didn't want to take his pills, as if skipping a day would help them last just a bit longer.  Would defeat the purpose though.  
  
One day.  
  
One day left.  
  
He skipped his NA meeting.  
  
Slept.  
  
"I'm sorry babe I took a late shift I won't be home for dinner, insurance called me back and they're looking into it.  Soon, I promise.  Love you."  
  
Last day  
  
 _His last day_.  
  
Clay's hands shook as he slipped the pills between his lips.  Now no matter what happened he'd be off his medication for at least a day or two, assuming the insurance came through _immediately_.  Since he didn't know how long he'd stay lucid he went shopping again, buying lots of extra food for Desmond since he wouldn't really be able to cook, probably shouldn't be trusted near the stove once his meds wore off.  Desmond couldn't know.  Clay didn't even know how to tell him.  
  
Of course he'd explained to Desmond some of the things that happened to him when his medication wore off, but he regret the fact that he'd never been completely honest about the severity.  What if Desmond thought he was _too crazy_?  What if Desmond left him to find someone...less... broken?  
Clay couldn't live with that, he'd never loved anyone more than he loved Desmond, even if the words stuck in his throat.  He vowed to hold it together as best he could, he still had all his techniques from therapy.  _This was going to be okay_.  
  
That night he cooked Desmond a really big dinner and rented his favorite movies. While Desmond laughed he fell asleep with his head in the other man's lap, arms wrapped tightly around his waist.  He had Desmond now, that had to make the difference, right?  
  
Next morning.  
  
No pills.  
  
Clay stayed home and meditated, practiced his breathing and focus.  He felt a bit uplifted, like he could _do this_.  He had more weapons at his disposal, more to live for.  His heart beat in his chest with a strength that made him feel like he could scale buildings.   
  
By the evening he was feeling tired and sluggish, but otherwise okay.  No hallucinations.  No serious depression.  No thoughts of suicide.  He made a simple dinner and found he had no appetite for it.  While Desmond ate he went to bed.  When he woke up Desmond had already left for work.  A note on his bed stand simply read, " _Love you, take care of yourself, okay?  I'll get everything all figured out soon_."  
  
Clay carried it in his pocket as he forced himself to get out of bed.  When his chest tightened his clenched the paper in his fist and took a deep breath.  Hold on, just hold on.  
  
By noon he wondered what the point was.  Clay hated his medication and he was going to be tied to it fucking forever.  How often would this happen?  He was just a burden on Desmond.  
  
By evening he was screaming into a pillow.  
  
He pretended to be asleep when Desmond got home.  He felt lips brush his temple and a hand brush through his greasy hair.  It just made him want to scream all over again.  
  
The next morning he felt like weights had been tied to his wrists and ankles.  Clay felt too heavy to get out of bed.  
  
So he didn't.  
  
He saw a stranger standing in the doorway staring at him and wanted to panic, but his training from therapy kicked in and he recognized it as the hallucination it was.  No matter how real, no matter how loud the stranger's breathing.  Clay closed his eyes and pretend he wasn't really there.  Because he wasn't.  He _wasn't_.  
  
The stranger was gone when he opened them again.  
  
"Clay?"  
  
Another hallucination?  
  
No, it was Desmond, standing hesitantly in the doorway, "Are you okay?"  
  
Talking was hard but Clay took in a deep breath, "Des... shouldn't you be at work?"  
  
"I was worried about you, I told them I had to take the day off," Desmond crawled onto the bed and pulled Clay into his lap, stroking a hand through his hair, "What can I do for you, Clay?"  
  
"Is the insurance figured out?" asked Clay, biting his bottom lip heavily.  
  
Desmond paused, "No...not yet."  
"Oh."  
  
"I'll take care of you," whispered Desmond and Clay clung on to him because he wasn't sure that would even make a difference at this point.  
  
The next day was the worst.  
  
"I'm visiting our insurance office in person," said Desmond, getting dressed in an agitated fashion.  Clay lay in bed, too tired to get up, too tired to sleep.  
  
"I'll be home as soon as I can, call me at ANY time for ANY reason, okay?"  
  
Desmond was waiting for an answer.  
  
"Yes," said Clay, putting for a supreme effort just to string together one simple word.  
  
"I love you I love you I love you," Desmond kissed him again and again even though he hadn't showered in days and then he was out the door.  
  
Look at all this trouble he was causing Desmond.  It would be so much easier if he wasn't here... then Des could find someone NORMAL.  Someone he didn't have to worry about.  Clay sniffed and blinked away a tear... except it wasn't a tear.  It was an ant.  An ant writhing and clawing with it's sharp little mandibles right out of his tear duct.  Clay wanted to claw at his eye but remembered at the last minute that it _wasn't real_.  
  
He forced himself to sit up and get into a cross-legged position.  Breathe.  Breathe.  More ants.  Hundreds of them crawling down his face and rolling down his neck.  Landing on his hands and skittering into his blankets, down his pants, up his nose and wriggling between his lips to chew at his gums. Deep breaths.  They weren't real it was a hallucination.  He opened his mouth and crunched down on an ant and could actually taste the acidic bitterness on his tongue.  They wriggled and squirmed over his whole body.  
  
 _Squirmed_.  
  
That was when he realized they weren't ants but maggots and now his nose and mouth were filled with maggots and it was so hard to do his breathing exercises around them.  They were _choking_ him.  He was going to _die_ and when Desmond found him it would be with maggots crawling from his body because he was _already rotting from the inside out_.  
  
Clay hyperventilated and his careful calm was shattered.  He screamed and clawed inside his mouth, gouging out furrows from the top of his mouth as he scooped out maggots, he reached down his throat and clawed to get them out of his airway and rolled on the bed, thrashing and crying as he tried to cough them up and blow them out of his nose but he just kept crying _more of them_.  
  
He squint down and coughed, seeing his sheets splattered with blood and more maggots.  They were coming from everywhere because he was just a corpse on the inside and he smelled rotting meat and that was _him_.  
  
Desmond couldn't love a corpse.  It was _unfair_ to ask him to, wasn't it?  
  
As if it had never happened the maggots were gone, though the blood on the sheets remained, he realized it was dripping from between his lips and running down his chin.  Clay sniffed and reached up, feeling moisture on his cheeks.  He'd been crying real tears, not ants, not maggots.  His hand reached for the phone and then wavered, he wanted Desmond to come home... but Desmond was out trying to fix the insurance and what if Clay just got in his way?  So he put his hand back in his lap and clenched it into a fist.  
  
What if... what if the insurance _never_ got fixed?  
  
Now he was positive it never would.  
  
So what was the point?  Seeing him like this was obviously hurting Desmond.  
  
 _Hurting Desmond_.  
  
It was the last thing Clay ever wanted to do.  He could stop that though, he could never hurt Desmond again if he wasn't around.  Clay got up and found his mind was sharp and everything around him stark.  The stranger was standing in his way as he walked into the bathroom and Clay shoved him aside.  The sound of the water filling the tub was oddly soothing, the heat fogging up the mirror.  Clay heard it from the kitchen as he picked out a sharp enough knife.  
  
He turned off the tub and went out to the pad Desmond had been leaving him notes from.  Clay wrote out a single sentence and set the paper down on the corner of the bathroom counter, weighing it down with the soap dish so it wouldn't slip away.  
  
This felt so _right_.  Like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  Clay didn't bother removing his clothes as he slipped into the scalding hot water, grabbing the knife and bringing it into the water with him.  For awhile he just turned the knife around in his hand, looking at himself in the reflection of the stainless steel and pressing the tip against his finger hard enough to draw a single drop of blood.  There were several advantages to doing this in the tub, in the scalding hot water.  It'd hurt less, and that was nice.  It would also leave less of a mess for Desmond, and that was better.  
  
He pressed the tip against the base of his wrist and paused, hardly breathing as the steel indented his skin but didn't draw blood.  Yet.  Some part of Clay resisted this, maybe he should wait to see if Desmond came back with good news.  No... then he'd want to linger on longer and that would just be selfish.  Clay HAD to do this... for Desmond.  
  
Blood splashed into the water as he dug the knife in and pulled it up his arm.  Clay let out a relieved breath and dropped the knife over the edge of the tub before setting his arm underwater, it quickly disappeared from view as the water turned a shocking red.  This was kind of relaxing... he let himself slip further into the tub as the pain of the cut throbbed through his whole body.  It was a pain he understood though, it was easy to handle.  
  
Clay rest his head against the back of the tub and sighed, shutting his eyes and wondering if he could just fall asleep in here.  It would be nice to die in ones sleep.  As time passed it became harder and harder to even open his eyes, and there was a slow heartbeat in his ears.  He was so _close_ he could feel it.  
  
"ClaY i'M HoME I hAVe---- neWS----CL-"  
  
Oh good... if he had to hear one last thing he was glad it was Desmond's voice.  His whole head slipped under the water as the screaming started.   
  
He didn't hear it.  
  
The paper fluttered under the dish.  
  
 _Never doubt that I love you_.


End file.
